Chapter 11: Hermione's helping hand


As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years' free periods were not the

hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to

attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set.

Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the

lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry

barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these

days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice.

Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject

had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.



Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the

Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked

over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them

purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo;

but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without

saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses;

they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at

least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula

seized them unexpectedly from behind.


One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing

nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable

to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the

staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed

him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to

notice them or hear their greetings.


"We've got to go and explain," said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's

huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.


"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" said Ron. "And we're

supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway,

explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"


"We didn't hate it!" said Hermione.


"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the skrewts," said Ron darkly.

"And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him

going on about his gormless brother -- we'd have been teaching Grawp how

to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."


"I hate not talking to Hagrid," said Hermione, looking upset.


"We'll go down after Quidditch," Harry assured her. He too was missing

Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without

Grawp in their lives. "But trials might take all morning, the number of

people who have applied." He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first

hurdle of his Captaincy. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a

sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," said Hermione, suddenly impatient. "It's not

Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and

frankly, you've never been more fanciable."


Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of

disdain before turning back to Harry.


"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The

whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about

Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last

two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you 'the Chosen

One' -- well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"


Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the

ceiling still looked cold and rainy.


"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when

they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see

the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write

with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. ..."


"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry,

look," said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.


"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer

either," Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

"I'm tall," said Ron inconsequentially.


The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows,

scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more

post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to

reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail

since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and

although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far

been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white

Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of

him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package

landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl,

Pigwidgeon.


"Ha!" said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of

Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.


"Oh good," said Hermione, delighted. "Now you can give that graffitied

copy back."


"Are you mad?" said Harry. "I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out --"


He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and

tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, "Dijjindo!" The cover fell off. He

did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized).

He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, "Reparo!"

There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the

fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.


"I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine

Galleons."


Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but

was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy

of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.


"Anyone we know dead?" asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he

posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.


"No, but there have been more dementor attacks," said Hermione. "And

an arrest."


"Excellent, who?" said Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Stan

Shunpike," said Hermione.


"What?" said Harry, startled.


"'Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the

Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr.

Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his

Clapham home. . .'"

"Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?" said Harry, remembering the spotty

youth he had first met three years before. "No way!"


"He might have been put under the Imperius Curse," said Ron reasonably.

"You never can tell."


"It doesn't look like it," said Hermione, who was still reading. "It says

here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters'

secret plans in a pub." She looked up with a troubled expression on her face.

"If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping

about their plans, would he?"


"It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did," said

Ron. "Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of

Magic when he was trying to chat up those veela?"


"Yeah, that's him," said Harry. "I dunno what they're playing at, taking

Stan seriously."


"They probably want to look as though they're doing something," said

Hermione, frowning. "People are terrified -- you know the Patil twins'

parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been

withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."


"What!" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "But Hogwarts is safer than

their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective

spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

"I don't think we've got him all the time," said Hermione very quietly,

glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. "Haven't you

noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week."


Harry and Ron looked up at the staff table. The headmaster's chair was

indeed empty. Now Harry came to think of it, he had not seen Dumbledore

since their private lesson a week ago.


"I think he's left the school to do something with the Order," said

Hermione in a low voice. "I mean . . . it's all looking serious, isn't it?"


Harry and Ron did not answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking

the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when

Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had

been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.


When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the

Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins' parents

wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two

best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise

him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged

Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at

her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became

something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh,

remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken

Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down

to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in

the stands without wishing Ron good luck.


As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of

Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were

nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh

years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter

included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the

Hogwarts Express.


"We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment," he said confidently,

stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. "Cormac McLaggen,

Keeper."


"You didn't try out last year, did you?" asked Harry, taking note of the

breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three

goal hoops without even moving.


"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," said McLaggen,

with something of a swagger. "Ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet."


"Right," said Harry. "Well. . . if you wait over there ..." He pointed over to

the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he

saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face and wondered

whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both

"old Sluggy's" favorites. Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all

applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the

pitch. This was a good decision: the first ten was made up of first years, and

it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only

one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he

was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.


The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever

encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and

clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them

to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to

heckle everyone else.


The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth

group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.


"If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor," roared Harry,

who was starting to get seriously annoyed, "leave now, please!


There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off

the pitch, snorting with laughter.


After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a

crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself

three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; a new

find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging

Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and

scored seventeen goals to boot. Pleased though he was with his choices,

Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was

now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.


"That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way of the

Keepers I'll hex you," he bellowed.


Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George,

but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but

broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an

egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie

Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie, Demelza,

and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.


Harry had deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an

emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however,

all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to

watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was

larger than ever. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared

and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always

had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match

last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was a delicate shade

of green.


None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To

Harry's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of

five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong

direction; the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the

ground grinding his teeth.


Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Good luck!" cried a voice from the stands. Harry looked around, expecting

to see Hermione, but it was Lavender Brown. He would have quite liked to

have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that

as the Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch

Ron do his trial.


Yet he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five

penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd

with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most

unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen's red face inches

from his own. He stepped back hastily.


"His sister didn't really try," said McLaggen menacingly. There was a

vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often ad-mired in Uncle

Vernon's. "She gave him an easy save."


"Rubbish," said Harry coldly. "That was the one he nearly missed."


McLaggen took a step nearer Harry, who stood his ground this time.


"Give me another go."

"No," said Harry. "You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five.

Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way."


He thought for a moment that McLaggen might punch him, but he

contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what

sounded like threats to thin air.


Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.


"Well done," he croaked. "You flew really well --"


"You did brilliantly, Ron!"


This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands;

Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather

grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself

and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.


After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday,

Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade good-bye to the rest of the team and headed

off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds

now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Harry felt extremely hungry; he

hoped there would be some-thing to eat at Hagrid's.


"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying

happily. "Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of spin on it --"

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," said Hermione, looking amused.


"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied

voice. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth?

Looked like he'd been Confunded. ..."


To Harry's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these

words. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other

penalties in loving detail.


The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's

cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge

head toward them.


"Oh dear," said Hermione nervously. "He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"


"Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?" said Ron. Harry stepped

forward and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or

blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow too.


"How are you?" Harry asked him in a low voice, moving forward to

stroke the feathery head. "Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid,

aren't you?"


"Oi!" said a loud voice.

Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large

flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound,

Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.


"Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers -- oh. It's yeh lot."


Fang was jumping up at Hermione and Ron, attempting to lick their ears.

Hagrid stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode

into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.


"Oh dear!" said Hermione, looking stricken.


"Don't worry about it," said Harry grimly. He walked over to the door and

knocked loudly. "Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!"


There was no sound from within.


"If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!" Harry said, pulling out his

wand.


"Harry!" said Hermione, sounding shocked. "You can't possibly --"


"Yeah, I can!" said Harry. "Stand back --"


But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry

had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and

looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.

"I'm a teacher!" he roared at Harry. "A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh

threaten ter break down my door!"


"I'm sorry, sir" said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his

wand inside his robes.


Hagrid looked stunned. "Since when have yeh called me 'sir'?"


"Since when have you called me 'Potter'?"


"Oh, very clever," growled Hagrid. "Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted,

innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little . . ."


Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Hermione scurried in

after Harry, looking rather frightened.


"Well?" said Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down

around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon

Harry's knee and drooling all over his robes. "What's this? Feelin' sorry for

me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"


"No," said Harry at once. "We wanted to see you."


"We've missed you!" said Hermione tremulously.


"Missed me, have yeh?" snorted Hagrid. "Yeah. Righ'."

He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle,

muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down three bucket-sized mugs

of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry

was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.


"Hagrid," said Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and

started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber

had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to carry on with

Care of Magical Creatures, you know." Hagrid gave another great snort.

Harry rather thought some bo-geys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly

thankful that they were not staying for dinner.


"We did!" said Hermione. "But none of us could fit it into our schedules!"


"Yeah. Righ'," said Hagrid again.


There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around:

Hermione let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried

around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they

had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots,

slimy, white, and writhing.


"What are they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather

than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.


"Jus' giant grubs," said Hagrid.

"And they grow into ... ?" said Ron, looking apprehensive.


"They won' grow inter nuthin'," said Hagrid. "I got 'em ter feed ter

Aragog."


And without warning, he burst into tears.


"Hagrid!" cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long

way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking

shoulders. "What is it?"


"It's. . . him . .." gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes stream-ing as he

mopped his face with his apron. "It's . . . Aragog. ... I think he's dyin'. . , . He

got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' better.... I don' know what I'll do if

he ... if he ... We've bin tergether so long. ..."


Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for

anything to say. Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a

vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions

with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-

brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster

fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the

Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped four

years previously.

"Is there -- is there anything we can do?" Hermione asked, ignoring

Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.


"I don' think there is, Hermione," choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the

flood of his tears. "See, the rest o' the tribe ... Aragog's family . . . they're

gettin' a bit funny now he's ill... bit restive ..."


"Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them," said Ron in an

undertone.


"... I don' reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at

the mo'," Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking

up. "But thanks fer offerin', Hermione. ... It means a lot."


After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither

Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a

murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they

would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.


"Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables,"

he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-

Turners --"


"We couldn't have done," said Hermione. "We smashed the entire stock of

Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily

Prophet."

"Ar, well then," said Hagrid. "There's no way yeh could've done it. ... I'm

sorry I've bin -- yeh know -- I've jus' bin worried about Aragog ... an I did

wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin' yeh --"


At which all three of them stated categorically and untruthfully that

Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a

dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the

premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.


"I'm starving," said Harry, once the door had closed behind them and they

were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds; he had abandoned the

rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of his back teeth. "And

I've got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven't got much time for

dinner."


As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the

Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted

off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and

strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held

her back.


"What?" said Hermione defensively.


"If you ask me," said Harry quietly, "McLaggen looks like he was

Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you

were sitting."

Hermione blushed.


"Oh, all right then, I did it," she whispered. "But you should have heard

the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty

temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in -- you wouldn't have

wanted someone like that on the team."




"No," said Harry. "No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest,

Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?"


"Oh, be quiet," she snapped, as he smirked.


"What are you two doing?" demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to

the Great Hall and looking suspicious.


"Nothing," said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron.

The smell of roast beef made Harry's stomach ache with hunger, but they

had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor

Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.


"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially,

twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous

belly, "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot

of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few

rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda

Bobbin -- I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large

chain of apothecaries -- and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger

will favor me by coming too."


Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as

though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.


"I can't come, Professor," said Harry at once. "I've got a detention with

Professor Snape."


"Oh dear!" said Slughorn, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was

counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with

Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to

postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!" He bustled away out

of the Hall.


"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," said Harry, the moment

Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once;

Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."


"Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!" said

Hermione anxiously; Harry knew that she was thinking about McLaggen.


"I doubt you'll be alone, Ginny'll probably be invited," snapped Ron, who

did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.


After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common

room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but

they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad

mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned

at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet,

which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.


"Anything new?" said Harry.


"Not really. . ." Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning

the inside pages. "Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron -- he's all right!" she

added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. "It just says he's been to

visit the Malfoys' house. 'This second search of the Death Eaters residence

does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for

the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and

Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-

off.'"


"Yeah, mine!" said Harry. "I told him at Kings Cross about Malfoy and

that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house,

he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him --"


"But how can he have done, Harry?" said Hermione, putting down the

newspaper with a surprised look. "We were all searched when we arrived,

weren't we?"


"Were you?" said Harry, taken aback. "I wasn't!"

"Oh no, of course you weren't, I forgot you were late. Well, Filch ran over

all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark

object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head

confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous!"


Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with

Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this

objection.


"Someone's sent it to him by owl, then," he said. "His mother or

someone."


"All the owls are being checked too," said Hermione. "Filch told us so

when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach."


Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not

seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object

into the school. He looked hopefully at Ron, who was sitting with his arms

folded, staring over at Lavender Brown.


"Can you think of any way Malfoy -- ?"


"Oh, drop it, Harry," said Ron.


"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid

party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!" said Harry, firing up.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," said Ron, getting to his feet

again, "I think I'll go to bed."


He stomped off toward the door to the boys' dormitories, leaving Harry

and Hermione staring after him.


"Harry?" said the new Chaser, Demelza Robins, appearing suddenly at his

shoulder. "I've got a message for you."


"From Professor Slughorn?" asked Harry, sitting up hopefully.


"No ... from Professor Snape," said Demelza. Harry's heart sank. "He says

you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention --

er -- no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wanted

you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to

use in Potions and -- and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."


"Right," said Harry grimly. "Thanks a lot, Demelza."